


best medicine

by eruriku



Series: antología [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, somebody is sick and everyone else abandons everything to visit them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruriku/pseuds/eruriku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say laughter is the best medicine. If you're not coughing to death; MakoGou ft. The Team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	best medicine

**Author's Note:**

> I've been itching to try established relationships and I'd been having some issues with other stories so I thought I'd take a break and came up with this bullcrap.
> 
> Also, I'm sure it's pretty obvious but entire italicised sentences that are isolated from other paragraphs are Makoto's thoughts.
> 
> Finally, this isn't a follow-up to "natural" but I guess you can think of them as being in the same universe.

It’s a beautiful day.

Makoto’s always been one to appreciate the little things: the spectacular dotting of white clouds against the light blue canvas blanketing Iwatobi town, that simple breeze that always seems to rush through his bedroom window just as he pokes his face out to catch some light, and the buzz of friendly chatter drifting with the wind, not at all loud and inconvenient but faint and pleasant, representing a friendly and warm community. In the middle of May, the spring atmosphere outside is so picturesque it would have been the _perfect_ day, if Makoto weren’t so appallingly sick.

Normally Makoto has the immune system of a god and hardly catches anything within the span of a year. Normally he’s the one fetching and delivering the homework Haru misses from class when he falls ill after refusing to stay out of the pool while it’s still too cold. Normally he’s the one checking in with Rei to go over whatever he missed during practice and to ensure him that _it’s fine, just focus on getting better, I know you can catch up when you get back_! Normally he’s the one dealing with Nagisa’s incessant texts of complaint, more often than not feeling obliged to respond with something encouraging, so he sends happy emoji’s to console his friend. At the same time, _Makoto_ is normal, he’s only human, and at eighteen years old, he and his parents have figured out that as a human being who can’t fight off every airborne disease and bacteria on the planet, he’d have to get sick at some point, and he does. Once a year, in fact, when the spring season starts to slowly melt into the sticky hot summers Iwatobi is known for.

Earlier, he’d been fighting a ridiculously high fever (his mother had been so alarmed he’d almost laughed but ended up in a coughing fit) and puked twice in the last two days. Now he’s stuck with just a cold and a wretched cough but he’s reduced to being miserable on his miserable, virus-infested bed, under miserable, sweaty covers, trying to breathe through his miserably clogged nose. Makoto releases a quiet groan and peeks open one eye to look out his window.

_What a shame._

_It’s such a beautiful day._

x-x-x

The door creaks open slowly about an hour later, when his mother nudges it open and lets herself in with a tray of hot soup and his medicine.

“Mako, you have a guest,” she announces softly. Makoto groans from underneath his covers. He’d pulled them up over his head earlier, unable to stand the glare of light coming from the beautiful day outside.

“Mom,” he croaks, “I said no guests. I can hardly speak.”

“You’re speaking right now,” a familiar voice says above him.

“Haru?!” Makoto shimmies out from under his covers awkwardly, the shoulder of his pyjama shirt sliding onto the edge of his shoulder.

“Why aren’t you at school?!” he asks in a bewildered voice. Stoic as ever, Haru takes the tray from Makoto’s mother, who passes it over gratefully and leaves the room after reminding Makoto to take the entire twenty millilitres of his medicine. After the door shuts, Haru pulls Makoto’s desk chair next to the bed, takes a seat on it and sets the tray on his lap. Makoto sighs, or tries to sigh before he falls into another coughing fit but once that’s over, he asks again.

“You should be at school! What are you doing here!?”

“You didn’t come by this morning,” he replies flatly, picking up the glass bottle that contains Makoto’s medicine and studying it halfheartedly.

“So if I don’t tell you to get out of the bath, rush you through your breakfast and walk with you to school, you simply won’t go!?” Makoto scolds, clearly disappointed. Haru doesn’t reply but his silence speaks for him in volumes. He keeps his eyes on Makoto’s steaming soup - Makoto’s mother used chicken broth, but it would’ve been better if she’d fashioned something out of mackerel instead - and when Makoto leans down to scrutinise his best friend, he can’t find a single trace of humiliation or guilt.

“Haru,” Makoto whines, drawing out Haru’s name until he can’t take it anymore and starts up yet another coughing fit. He turns away from Haru and coughs into his fist. When he’s done, taking a deep breath and letting it out shakily, Haru carefully places the tray of food on Makoto’s lap.

“She should use mackerel next time,” he suggests monotonously. Makoto raises an amused eyebrow at his friend before picking up the spoon.

“I’ll remind her next year when I get sick again,” he jokes lightly. Haru says nothing, of course, and turns his body towards the television set in Makoto’s bedroom. He sits there, enveloped by a comfortable and familiar silence while Makoto eats his fill. Halfway through his soup, he pauses, the spoon held midway between the bowl and his chin.

“Next time just go on without me,” Makoto reprimands his friend quietly, eyes flickering over to Haru before retreating back to the bowl of soup. He lowers the spoon again and stirs the soup, gathering cubes of potatoes and carrots to one side of the bowl before dispersing them back equally in the warm liquid.

“It’s only the first term,” Haru says, as if it’ll explain anything.

“It’s only our _last_ first term before we have to decide what we’re going to do with our lives,” Makoto corrects him adamantly. He curses inwardly (that’s the only time he’ll ever let himself curse) when he sneezes afterwards, the tenacity immediately sucked out of his words.

“Exactly,” Haru replies calmly, “So don’t you think we should enjoy it the way we want to?”

Makoto contemplates Haru’s words with a frown and a tiny pout on his lips.

_Always one step ahead of me._

Slowly and subtly, the corners of Makoto’s (slightly burning) eyes crinkle into a smile and he turns to finish his soup without another word. Haru watches as he forces down his gag-worthy medicine and washes it down with a glass of water. He shifts around to get out of bed with the intention of returning his tray to the kitchen but Haru picks it up for him.

“I got it.” He meanders his way out of Makoto’s room and for a moment, all Makoto can hear is the clinking of tableware, the shuffle of slippers on the polished wooden floor, and Haru’s and his mother’s distant voices. Some part of Makoto’s mind hopes that Haru will have the sense of responsibility to actually leave him here at home and catch the last few hours of school but another, more logical part of him knows that that’s probably not going to happen.

Naturally, Haru pops back into his room calmly and sits down in the desk chair again.

“So,” he starts, running a finger over the organised row of video games on the shelf next to Makoto’s bed. “What do you want to play today?”

“Eh!?” Makoto’s eyes level up from burning to scorching at how hard they’re bugging out of his head. “H-Haru - I’m sick! I can’t play video games, I should be resting!”

“You seem rested to me.”

“I need to sleep, Haru,” Makoto whines, to no avail. Haru doesn’t feel the need to say anything to that as he picks two random games and pulls them out of the shelf. He looks at them for a few seconds, seems to decide they’re good enough, and looks up at Makoto.

“We’re playing these,” he says, moving off the chair to start up the system. Open-mouthed, Makoto watches him go, partially in disbelief (he always seems to be in disbelief) but mostly with exasperation. Just as well, the soup and horrid medicine have cleared his clogged nose and woken him up sufficiently and Makoto would be lying if he said he’d rather spend the rest of the afternoon watching the beautiful day waste away right in front of him instead of kill a few hours by killing something or another on his PlayStation. So when Haru hands him his controller, he mutters a thanks and sits up a little straighter on his bed. Having taken command of the first player controls, Haru perches himself on the edge of Makoto’s desk chair and starts clicking through the game. While they wait for the game to load, he turns to Makoto’s open window, as if he’s just noticed the lovely weather outside.

“Nice day.” Makoto follows his gaze.

“Yeah.”

x-x-x

Haru stays basically the entire afternoon after “thorough” consultation with Makoto’s mother, which involves her telling Makoto to always cover his mouth and keep drinking water, and telling Haru to simply keep his distance. Otherwise, she’s quite certain Makoto is well on his way past recovery despite Makoto’s protests or, in her words, “Oh, he’s a strong boy, and a few games might help him destress a little!”

Of course it’s no surprise that about fifteen minutes after the school bell rings in the distance to signal the end of classes for the day, Makoto and Haru hear a knock on the door. Makoto, who’s stolen the first player controls for this round, immediately pauses the game and throws Haru another irritated scolding look, though it’s ignored, naturally.

“I’m guessing there won’t be any swimming practice today?”

“Your girlfriend texted us this morning that it was cancelled,” Haru answers, thumbs and forefingers tapping lightly on the controller. Makoto chokes on air and collapses into his twelfth coughing fit in the last two hours.

“She has a name, you know,” he mumbles after recovering. Haru is saved from having to reply - not that he was going to anyway - when the door bursts open and a loud, springy blur of blonde hair wailing Makoto’s name bounces onto his bed, almost colliding into him headfirst.

“Nagisa, would you relax!? You’re going to give him a heart attack!” Rei appears right behind Nagisa, his backpack hanging off one elbow, and both shoulders stooping forward with fatigue (most likely from his attempts in restraining Nagisa).

“Come on, Rei, that’s a little overdramatic, don’t you think?” Nagisa shoots back. Turning around quickly, he resumes crying to Makoto.

“Mako, why did you have to leave us today when we needed you most?! It’s the most beautiful Thursday I’ve ever seen in my entire life and it’s perfect for swimming and you decide to get sick today?!”

“You think I _wanted_ to get sick?!” Makoto sputters, scooting away from Nagisa lest he infect another member of the already modestly-sized team.

“I don’t know _what_ you’re thinking!” Nagisa cries, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect, almost whacking Haru on the head. “Oh, sorry, Haru.” Haru grunts in response, which allows Nagisa to continue his monologue.

“All I know is everyone got texts this morning from your girlfriend that practice would be cancelled and we’d all be making a trip here after school!”

“I have a name, you know,” Gou appears at the doorway grumbling, an exasperated look not unlike Makoto’s on her face. She stands over the threshold, one hand holding onto a clear plastic folder filled with what can only be the homework Makoto (and Haru) missed today and the other twirling a red pen.

“Yeah, but it’s so vague,” Nagisa says, rotating his body to address Gou, “Is your name Kou or is it still Gou, like it should be?” The boys hear a quiet but ferocious growl a split second before a red pen zips through the air from Gou’s hand and smacks Nagisa on the neck. He yelps and jerks away from Gou, slapping a hand to his neck.

“Man, Makoto, your girlfriend’s scary,” he teases, grinning widely before bouncing off the bed and strolling over to stand next to Haru, safely distanced from Gou’s wrath. It’s only when Nagisa leaves Makoto’s view and lets him see everyone that he suddenly feels too big and too cramped in his own room.

“What are you guys doing here? What happened to practicing for regionals?” Makoto knows there’s no use trying to convince them to go back to school and practice but he asks anyway, for the sake of his own sanity. He’s vaguely aware that in addition to Haru’s tapping thumbs and fingers, Haru’s right knee starts bouncing in place, impatient to start up the game again. He rolls his eyes inwardly (that’s also the only place he lets himself roll his eyes) but chooses not to say anything.

“Well, it didn’t feel right without having our captain there,” Gou explains, stepping into the room albeit a little shyly. Makoto notes that she keeps her distance from him while the other boys are in the same room and studies her with a meaningful look.

“And _everyone_ agreed on this?” He asks her. He almost grins triumphantly when she blanches and suddenly can’t look him in the eye. Rei and Nagisa watch the exchange with completely different reactions. Rei definitely seems a little uncomfortable and on the verge of clearing his throat or interrupting while Nagisa watches with mischievous fascination.

“No, it was Gou’s idea to cancel,” Haru says, sighing and putting the controller down on the shelf behind him. “She didn’t ask for anyone’s input.” Gou gathers enough dignity to throw him a blistering glare that he stares at blankly.

“Can you blame me?” She sputters helplessly. “He just sounded so sick on the phone, a-and I felt bad holding practice without him when it’s so beautiful today, s-so I thought we could at least just pay him a visit and maybe plan our next training camp instead, and you didn’t turn up at school today!”

“What does Haruka playing hooky have to do with any of this?” Rei asks meekly. Nagisa titters next to Haru at the situation before him, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on forth on his feet.

“Gou, relax! There’s nothing to be ashamed about being an overly worried and protective girlfriend!” Gou blushes. “You’re just like your brother in that sense.” Everyone sans Haru sends him an odd look. Makoto is the first to break, chuckling at Nagisa’s expense. At the sound of their captain’s laughter, the thin air of awkward tension dissipates and everyone (sans Haru) falls into the same comfortable flow again, smiles perched on their lips. A glance to his right shows Makoto that even Haru manages half a smirk a second later.

They do end up talking about their upcoming training camp for a few minutes before Makoto’s mother appears at the doorway again, asking what kind of snacks they’re in the mood for and what they’d like for dinner. Rei politely refuses but is dragged out of the room by an ecstatic Nagisa, who immediately starts listing off thirty different requests to Makoto’s patient mother. Before she completely steps out of the room, she throws a knowing glance at Haru and clears her throat, telling him that she recently bought a pack of fish the other day and would really love to cook it for dinner tonight and could he help with that while she gets Nagisa’s snacks ready? Needless to say, Haru is out the door heading for the kitchen before she even finishes her question. Makoto shoots a thankful smile towards his mother, who in turn darts a glance at an unsuspecting Gou and winks at him cheekily before quickly following the other boys down the hall, shutting the door behind her.

He has no time to make sense of his mother’s ways because Gou is approaching him at a steady pace and then he has no time to say anything to Gou before her hand makes contact with his forehead. His face heats up instantly, though it has less to do with his cold and more to do with the hand on his forehead and maybe a little to do with the sudden proximity of her chest (he’s a teenage boy, sue him).

“Are you feeling any better?” she asks worriedly, a light crease in between her eyebrows.

“Much better than yesterday,” he replies gently, shifting his body to better receive her attention. He pulls his legs out from under the covers and rests his feet against the floor, leaning back on his hands as she steps in between his legs. “I’m glad you guys are here.” Gou grins that little half grin he’s noticed she wears when she’s proud of herself and simultaneously basking in someone else’s praise.

“Well, you should be, otherwise, who would you have to keep you in line with your grades?” She produces the clear folder from behind her back and presses them against Makoto’s chest, pushing herself slightly away from him. “Your best friend doesn’t show up to school if you’re not already there so I end up having to pick up all your lousy homework. And his, too!” Makoto simply laughs at this and sets the folder down on his pillow, wishing he could reach up and give her a thank you kiss. And more. Definitely more.

“Thank you,” he says instead, “And Haru’ll be grateful, too. We’re still working on thank you’s.” Gou giggles at that and moves her hand back to brush his bangs away from his eyes.

“I hope you get better really soon,” she mutters, mostly to herself, “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” she asks, suddenly more than eager to do something useful. Makoto grins and finally succumbs to the pull of her hips, reaching up and splaying his fingers against her waist, breathing in her delicate scent (something light and fresh and very appropriate for spring).

“I live with my family, Gou,” he chuckles, “I can assure you my mom takes real good care of me.”

“Of course she does! I just - if there’s _anything_ at all that I can do, just tell me at once,” she says, although it comes out more like a sharp command. Makoto sighs helplessly and buries his head against the softness of her stomach. While Gou isn’t sick at all, she starts to feel a flush creeping up her neck, most likely starting from the heat that’s suddenly sparked in her belly.

“You’re already so good to me,” he mumbles into her shirt, and his words inspire her to reach up and run both of her hands through his hair again and again in a soothing rhythm. Soon Makoto’s own hands are sliding down from her waist to her hips and up again, echoing the pattern her fingers are stroking. He doesn’t stop even when Gou’s fingers pause at his neck, his pulse beating steadily against the meat of her palm.

“Hey, Makoto?” Gou receives a hum in response from his head’s position against her stomach. She giggles shortly and Makoto cherishes the brief reverberations against his forehead.

“Are you going to kiss me or should I kiss you first?” That catches Makoto’s attention so fast that his fingers tighten against her hips (thank mercy) but his head jerks away from her stomach, away from her hands, and she’s met with another one of his incredulous looks.

“What is wrong with everyone today? I’m _sick_!” He stammers, but Gou can clearly see the unmistakable blush growing darker on his cheeks. He wants it.

“I know,” she says innocently. Patiently. He’ll break soon enough.

“I’ll get you sick!” Makoto insists. Gou shrugs nonchalantly.

“I have a pretty good immune system too, you know,” she says confidently. Makoto tries a different tactic.

“The guys might walk in and see. Or my _mother_!” He whispers the last part harshly and Gou sort of flinches at that one but remains steadfast and determined. Just a little longer and he’ll snap. She knows. She’s seen it. She’s _caused_ it.

“Just one? One small one?” Maybe she’s a little ashamed about the fact that she throws in a little pout for good measure and that she takes great pride in watching his bottom lip tremble in conflict. Maybe she’s a little bit ashamed for playing the hard-to-get card, but it’s just this once and it’s for the greater good.

“Okay, okay! You could’ve just said you weren’t in the mood for it today,” she says, starting to pull away from his grip when it only tightens and he suddenly tugs her closer by the small of her back. She hears him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth (must’ve picked it up from hanging around Rin) and watches him narrow his eyes at her, revelling in the small circles his thumbs have begun swirling against her hips. Maybe she’s not ashamed at all.

“What’re you talking about?” He mutters quietly, already beginning to pull her down. “I’m always in the mood.” Gou can’t keep down her grin and meets him halfway, a little disappointed that he isn’t giving her that much access today but more than happy that she’s getting anything at all.

She thinks she can get him to pry his lips open instead of just littering kisses on her lips and on the corners of her mouth and she almost achieves it with a little help from her tongue when the door blasts open again. The sudden loud noise jolts Makoto and Gou back to reality and he scrambles to the farthest side of his bed away from her while she scrambles to clumsily sit down in the chair Haru had previously occupied.

“Oh, I see,” Nagisa walks in, arms loaded with candy and snacks, “You won’t give me a hug but you’ll suck her face?!” Gou and Makoto throw Nagisa equally disgusted looks.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“He doesn’t _want_ to suck your face.”

“Okay, that’s just hurtful,” Nagisa says, plopping down onto the end of Makoto’s bed and making himself comfortable before launching into another one of his wild ideas for their training camp. Makoto and Gou are a little surprised and more than grateful at how easily Nagisa waves off their display of affection but neither of the two dare to bring it up. Rei walks in a moment later with drinks perched on a tray and tells them that Haru is working on dinner in the kitchen with Makoto’s parents. 

Makoto runs a hand through his hair, coughing a few times. He blushes just thinking about the fact that he’d just made out with his girlfriend with all these people in the vicinity, not to mention in the middle of a very contagious cold. If she catches something because of him, he’ll never forgive himself. He chances a glance at Gou, who has subtly rearranged herself to look more presentable on his desk chair but she’s still a little sweaty and more than a little flushed, the tips of her fingers brushing against her bottom lip, her eyes a little dazed. She catches his gaze and he can practically hear her giggles from the glimmer in her eyes. She graces him with one of her most captivating smiles - the kind she only saves for him - before looking away and pulling her knees up to her chest, listening avidly to Nagisa’s ideas and Rei’s alterations and improvements to said ideas. 

Makoto kind of tunes out for a few seconds, just to look at Gou a little longer. He knows that she can feel his stare - her smirk and constant glances at him are proof enough - but he keeps it up anyway. When he’s had his fill (although in all honesty, he’ll never get enough of her), he looks out the window again, just in time to catch the blend of pink, orange, and purple hues that make up an Iwatobi sunset. 

Soon it gets dark outside, and the team has their spontaneous dinner in the dining room (courtesy of Haru) and Makoto has about six more coughing fits but Nagisa is laughing so hard he’s crying, Haru has told a grand total of two jokes (straight-faced, which only made them funnier), Rei is smiling so wide, Makoto thinks his glasses might crack, and Gou sits next to him chortling nonstop, her hand cool and familiar in his own. When he looks out the window, this time to face the shine of the luminous moon, he thinks again that today could have been the perfect day if it weren’t for his cold. But it’s close enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you guys like that second episode because I almost shat myself in sheer joy. Excuse my French.
> 
> Side-note: Makoto probably has a PlayStation 3 because the controllers in the end card for episode 4 (season 1) are for PlayStations. And he’s a selfless boy so even when the PS4 came out and it looked really good (like REALLY good), he probably didn’t ask for it and told his parents to get Ren and Ran new bikes instead. Jesus Christ, Makoto.


End file.
